


What Lies Beyond

by UglyTunaSandwich



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gay Panic, Grey Sweatpants, M/M, and here we are, dick print, i told you i would write it, omi wearing an oversized shirt, that one, the only thing binding them is the clothes shit, these are all loosely connected, ya whores, yes - Freeform, yes this is the sweatpants fic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyTunaSandwich/pseuds/UglyTunaSandwich
Summary: Atsumu finds something old while Sakusa discovers something new
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 30
Kudos: 389
Collections: ~SakuAtsu~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qkrwlsdud2209](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qkrwlsdud2209/gifts).



> A fic I wrote thanks to Dicte listening to that one anon on cc asking for Atsumu in sweatpants. Gosh, we've come so far :,)

Atsumu stepped out the shower, still damp where he haphazardly dried himself with his towel. He was shirtless, which was nothing out of the ordinary. What _was_ a surprise, however, was the addition of an article of clothing Kiyoomi hadn't seen before: a pair of grey sweatpants.

They clung to his hips, held just desperately by the moisture that still layered the surface of his skin. As began his way towards the kitchen, the front end, loosely tied in a lazy bow, slowly crept down his figure– giving a view of the faintest hint of short black hairs that led to– 

_Get a hold of yourself, Kiyoomi._

Still…

He couldn’t help but guzzle down the sight before him. 

Atsumu stretched in front of him, giving a wonderful side view of his figure. Kiyoomi forced his eyes to go anywhere else than the small indent that made itself prevalent beneath the fabric. The best place to distract himself was the crevices and valleys between Atsumu’s shoulder blades as he raised his arms over his head. Each muscle flexed gently as the blonde worked on getting out the last few remnants of drowsiness. 

Doing his best (well, maybe not his _best_ , best) to counteract the gay panic that was seeping into his very bloodstream, Kiyoomi looked back down again. He would’ve been okay if they hadn’t landed right on crotch. 

_Oh no. Oh_ no _!_

As Atsumu lazily made his way towards the refrigerator, Kiyoomi couldn’t help but take note of the gentle bouncing against his thigh– a (now) gentle reminder of the night before. 

Atsumu leaned into the open door, surveying the groceries they bought the day before. 

“Hey Omi Omi,” he yawned, leaning even further down to the crisper drawers. “Do we have...oh wait, I think I found it.”

Kiyoomi found a treasure of his own as he watched the loose fabric hug the curves of his ass. They didn’t do it any justice, if you asked him. Even still, the contrast of knowing versus what one could see was enticing to him. He almost wanted to take a handful or two and– 

“So yer not thirsty?”

Kiyoomi snapped out of trance, only to be dragged in deeper to the pits of hell. 

Atsumu turned around, a carton of orange juice and milk in each hand. Putting Kiyoomi at eye level right with his–

“When did you get these pants?” he almost whispered, trying to make out the shape that gave a slight bulge through the cotton.

“Huh? Oh these? Yea, I found’em while going through my closet the other day. Yer right, I didn’t wear most of those clothes anyway. Ha.”

“Ha,” came out half heartedly as Kiyoomi unclenched an unconscious fist, feeling a cool breeze meet a sweaty palm. 

“Do they look bad? Yea, I know they’re kinda old...but…” Atsumu’s speech halted at what was Kiyoomi _blatantly_ staring at his crotch. A furious, fiery heat made its way across his neck. And just the smallest of kicks within his pants. 

Kiyoomi missed nothing. 

“‘Tsumu…”

Atsumu swallowed tentatively. “Um, yeah?”

Kiyoomi stood up without a word, walking over to Atsumu and grabbing him in his arms. He placed both hands on either side of his ass and squeezed, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He used his stance to pin Atsumu against the closed side of the refrigerator door, the cool air from the open side not enough to stifle the fire beneath his skin. 

Kiyoomi took a thigh and grinded it between Atsumu’s own, only feeling him grow against the contact. Atsumu moaned softly as he began to rut against it, seeking gain as much friction as possible to satisfy the growing need between his legs. 

“Forget the drinks, yeah?” Kiyoomi whispered into his ear. 

“Y-yeah.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is no part two, do not ask. 
> 
> see the accompanying piece on twitter on Dicte's page @myaadidi
> 
> im @u_suspend on twt 
> 
> \--@kobraboii made fanart for it, lmfaooo go check them out


	2. What Only Hands Can See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the allure is not from what's readily available. Sometimes it's something only your hands can see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to that one person who actually subscribed to the sweatpants fic. you really won, huh? well, yer gonna be one of the first people to see this cause im not telling anyone i uploaded. enjoy

“Atsumu did you get–”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!” he cut off. Atsumu stripped the bed of _every_ sheet. Even the one with the little scrunchie thing around the edges. Last time he fort and they ended up doing laundry at 10 p.m. because Sakusa got itchy. 

No cuddling that night, and no sex for a week. 

Atsumu shutters at the traumatic memory. 

He’s about to load up the laundry when– shit. 

“Omi, do we have more laun–”

“Yeah, I was just getting another jug. I knew it was low.”

Atsumu gulps. “Omi?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and props his free hand on his hip, hugging the loose fabric to his skin. “Yes, I got ocean breeze this time. It was _one time,_ Miya.”

“Yeah, ocean breeze, where’d you get that shirt, Omi?”

“Ugh, this? I ran out of clothes to wear. This is kind of like my last resort,” Sakusa sighed. Seriously, _where_ did all his clothes go? A faint pink hue across his cheeks signaled his embarrassment. “Who are you to judge, you’re in your underwear!”

“Yeah, but…” But he was in _that_ . What was _that_ , one might ask?

_That_ was an oversized t-shirt with the him falling just a few inches above Sakusa’s knees, almost making him look small. It would be funny on a 192 centimeter man if Atsumu didn’t find it so _hot._

The t-shirt was faded, but donned a blue-purple hue with a slight smoky coloring. The pastel shade complemented the paleness of his inner thigh, having never been kissed by the sun (but _definitely_ by Atsumu).

The fabric hung loosely around his frame, its only point of tension at his shoulders– the area showing the expanse of his collarbone, which was perfectly accented by a flurry of moles. 

Atsumu’s seen Sakusa naked before. Hell, he saw the man naked _last night_ . But...something about the way it obscured his frame...the excitement, the very _concept_ of blindly rediscovering him was arousing. 

His eyes raked over his body in haste, trying to absorb any and everything within nanoseconds– the slight folds in the crooks of his elbows when he moved; the way it lightly swished while he walked; the way his–

“Omi-kun?” His voice croaked through his cotton dry throat. 

Sakusa began measuring out the detergent using the cup it came with. He leaned over his broken boyfriend to drop it in the proper slot. “What, Miya?” Annoyance lied at the edge of his voice. 

Atsumu took a second (or two, or fifteen) to watch the hem of the shirt rise on Sakusa’s thigh as he reached over to add (what Atsumu called “fancy shit”) to the washer. The small flexes in his thigh with every movement fleetingly playing with the wooly material. As the edge of the shirt rose and fell, it confirmed his suspicion. 

“Omi, are ya wearin’ underwear under that?” he slurred out, still impressed by his own coherence. 

“Why would I do that?” Sakusa turned and asked, as if that was the dumbest question he’d heard that week. “I honestly have half a mind to toss this in there, too. Along with those...ugh.” He shamelessly eyed Atsumu’s only piece of clothing: underwear that he’s been trying to get him to throw out for the longest. 

Atsumu shielded his briefs (and growing erection) behind his palms. “They’re my favorite ones! You _know_ that!”

“I do, but I just can’t understand _why_.”

“They’re comfy, okay? And what about you with that...blue...purple? Whatever the fuck color shirt that is!”

“It’s periwinkle,” he deadpanned.

“‘It’s periwinkle’,” Atsumu attempted to mock, as if not gaining a shade of his own. “Stop makin’ up colors!”

“Wha...what?” Sakusa scrunched his nose in confusion. “Did you...did you not know periwinkle was a color?”

“Stop deflating!”

“Deflecting.”

“Are ya freeballin’, yes or no?”

“Free–”

“Are ya wearin’ anything under that?”

“What?” Sakusa was thoroughly perplexed at this point. “No, why? Atsumu it’s laundry day. What the– Miya, what the fuck?!”

“I just wanted to make sure.”

“And your way of making sure was cupping my ass?! Your hand is cold!”

“Oya?” Atsumu gave a devilish grin as he kneaded Sakusa beneath his palm. “How am I supposed to control myself with you dressed like this?”

“Dressed like _what_?”

Atsumu gave featherlight touches to the fabric, fingertips dancing lightly before diving in to meet a hard surface. 

First a pec. Then firm abs that flinched under his touch. Finally…

Atsumu gripped him through the t-shirt, earned a small gasp from his boyfriend. 

“Hey, Omi Omi…” He looked up to meet Saksua’s flushed face contrasting greatly with the soft pastel. 

“Maybe I can _per-_ your _-winkle_.”

“And you ruined it.” Sakusa sighed in complete and utter disbelief. He started the washer and began his way out of their small laundry room. 

“ _Oh come on!_ It was _good_!”

“It was not.” Sakusa bent over to pick up a few stray socks that had fallen during Atsumu’s initial trip. 

Atsumu watched shamelessly as the wolly shirt hugged his skin close. Through it, he could see the faint whisper of the curve of his ass. The rising hem gave view to a few dark marks on his inner thigh– stories from the night before. 

Sakusa threw the extra socks in their hamper– laundry for another day.

Right before his leave, a sudden realization hit. “Oh, almost forgot the fabric softener,” he muttered to himself. He started back towards the washer just to see Atsumu– still there, growing in those wretched briefs– gawking at him. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Hey, Omi? Fuck the fabric softener.”

Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh with the roll of his eyes. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Either way, he half (only half) sashayed to Atsmu, wrapping his arms around his waist as his boyfriend did the same. 

“You’re annoying.”

“And yer hot.”

Between heated breaths and desperate hands, the fabric softener lay long forgotten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe i spent almost 1k words talking about sakusa wearing a fucking shirt? what kinda shit is this? im not making it 1k even with eight extra words, so leave me alone. anywho, gonna go write some heavy angst now. byeeee


End file.
